Forgotten
by onwingsofsnark
Summary: Victoria's in love. She's engaged. Life isn't as happy as the fairy tales portray.


**Nixiesocean: Warning! If you like happy endings: do not read this.**

**However, if you like angst, or are bored and want to read something, please read this, and review.**

**If I get enough feedback, I may write a full-length story.**

_Forgotten_

I sat in my parlor, embroidering another pillow cover. I do these endlessly. To me, it seems like the world never runs out of a need for pillow covers. This one is a red rose, a symbol of love.

It made me think of my beau, Michael. He's been my beau for a year, and I hoped he would soon ask my father for my hand. I was sixteen, and as such the right age for marriage.

A maid entered. "Milady, your father requests you in informal dining room," She said. I nodded and left.

_Please let it be my father telling me he accepts Michael's proposal! _I strode gracefully into the room, sweeping a fine curtsy for my father. I straightened to look at him.

There was another man, not Michael. He was tall, yes. His hair was sandy blonde, with a few silver hairs at his temples. His face was long and his eyes locked uncomfortably onto me.

I knew why I was here.

This was the duke of White River.

He was slim, and, compared to my father, near starving. I smiled kindly at the two men. My father, unlike the duke, was short, plump, completely bald and his near-black eyes were devoid of emotion.

"Lady Victoria Fybersland." The baron said in his deep baritone.

I gave him another curtsy, "This is an unexpected pleasure, Your Grace." I knew what I had to say to please my father.

My father took his cue. "This is Duke James of White River, Victoria." He obviously thought me a simpleton. "Your Grace, my eldest daughter, Victoria Fybersland."

He was a little late on introductions. Duke James was known throughout my father's holdings, and most of the kingdom. He was the second cousin of the king, and fourth in the line of succession.

I curtsied again to the duke.

My father spoke again, "His Grace is generous, Victoria," He continued. I knew where this was going, and I wished Michael had approached my father sooner. "I have accepted his proposal of marriage."

For me.

"You will be wed in one month."

My stomach plummeted to the ground. I had to tell Michael. I struggled to contain all the emotions roiling through my body. Hatred of my father, disgust with the duke, fear for Michael… everything.

The duke bowed. "Until then, Lady Victoria." He excused himself.

I turned to my father after I heard the door shut. "May I be excused?"

His smile grew larger. "I have already dispatched a messenger to the lord of Gisban." _Michael!_

I nodded. "Thank you."

Except I wanted to tell my beau, my father knew that. He had the upper hand. He knew about my marriage earlier, he knew how to manipulate me to marry the duke.

And most of all? He knew the duke was richer, and could easily outbid Michael for my hand.

"You are dismissed." He ignored me then, so I left.

I called my lady's maid to me, my only friend, aside from Michael. Carla was kind to me. "Victoria," She murmured when she saw my distraught face. "What happened?"

I burst into a fit of tears. "My father has ordered me to marry the duke of White River!"

"But…" Carla protested. "This can't be!"

"It is." I said, smiling ironically.

She held my hand. "There has to be a way out. We could send a message to the lord of Gisban, you two can run."

I stared at her. "You are a genius, Carla!" I exclaimed happily.

She grinned. "We'll get you to marry your love." She brought over parchment and a quill, already dipped. "Write a letter, I'll have one of servants dispatch it. You two doves will be gone by the end of the week."

"Or earlier." I muttered.

_My Love,_

_As you already know, my father has ordered me to marry Duke James of White River. This is against my will, despite what my father's letter might have told you. I love you more than the sun, my sweet. Carla has devised a devious plan for us. If you still love me like you say, then you will run with me. The duke can marry Charlotte or Meghan. I love you, and you alone. If God wills it, then we will escape, and be together, and in love eternally._

_With love unending,_

_Victoria_

_P.S. Send a letter back. I send all my love._

I blew it dry, sealed the envelope and gave it to Carla. She turned to leave.

"Wait!" I cried. I grabbed it back. I went to my vanity and got some lip paint. It applied it, and then pressed my lips to the paper, right next to his name. Then, I got another envelope, put the letter inside, resealed it and addressed it to _Lord Michael of Gisban_. The inner envelope just said, '_Michael_'.

I gave it back to Carla and she was off.

-

I went to sleep, dreaming of what Michael and I would do. We would run off, in the middle of the night, and my father would not know we had eloped until we were long gone. The duke would marry Charlotte or Meghan and I would be happy.

I had a peace night's rest.

-

The next morning, there was a letter on my bed. I gasped happily when I recognized Michael's handwriting and broke the seal. I opened the short letter and read each word greedily.

_Lady Victoria,_

I knew I was in trouble when I read the heading. I guessed it was his form of humor and shrugged it off. I kept reading.

_Your request for elopement has been denied. As much as it breaks my heart to refuse, our summer love was not meant to be. The day your and your father's letters arrive at Gisban manor my father announced that my bride had been chosen. I would marry in a month._

_I have not told your father about this daydream of yours, nor would I ever devise to do such. I may visit you at White River manor in the future, and you may meet my wife._

My heart sunk.

_I would recommend that you settle into your current state. The ladies that do successfully live a life of shadow, and the respectable society all but ignores them. They are not acknowledged as nobility, or anything less than dirt. The fables of princesses running off to find her true love and avoid an arranged marriage are false._

_Should you run off, and your father approaches me, I will tell him all I know. It is against my virtues to lie._

_You may ask me why I never asked for your hand. There is one simple reason: I knew it would be denied. Your beauty is well known throughout the land, and your father has finally successfully exploited such. The duke of White River is known for keeping beautiful ladies as company, and it comes as no surprise to that he chose you to be his new legal prostitute. You will exclaim at my use of such vulgar language. It is the plain and simple truth. The day you were born, all rights for your happiness were given over to your father._

_And as such he can use that right to gain more wealth._

_It sorrows me to be so frank with you, as our summer love was the most precious thing to me ever, but you need to know the truth._

_Yours truly,_

_Michael,_

_Lord of Gisban_

My heart broke. My world spun. His letter ran through my head faster than a racehorse. Everything he said, from his own arranged marriage, to his knowledge of Duke James.

The habits of my soon-to-be husband scared me to the bone. How would my life change with this new knowledge? Would he be unfaithful? Could I do anything about it?

The answers were: my life would change drastically, yes and no.

I shuddered at the knowledge. I wished Michael had not told me. Then I would be surprised, and innocent for at least one last month. But this letter had brought me down to earth. I would marry a rake and be, as Michael put it, a "legal prostitute."

As it stood, my innocence was scraped away, my freedoms demolished and my will to live evaporated.

-

My father put under strict control. I reported to him every morning and night. Another, less empathic maid, replaced Carla. A guard was posted just outside my window. I wondered where he got the knowledge that I might escape. I spent little time outside, and visiting the stables was strictly prohibited.

I used my time to create a secret kerchief. It held a black rose with a red heart behind it. More than once, I intentionally pricked myself to stain it with blood. I created spiral designs from the old druidic books I had found in the library. Symbols of oppression, hatred and sorrow were the main theme of the kerchief. I intended to keep it hidden until my deathbed, where I would die clutching it.

Needless to say, my heart was broken from Michael's rejection, my new realization on the subject of my betrothed pervaded every thought, dream and action I had. I never found the strength to raise any weapon against myself, except the occasional prick of the finger to create the sadness I felt on the kerchief.

In that month, I finished my deathbed kerchief and hid it among the packed luggage in my powder case.

The morning of the wedding, I felt like dressing in black, for it was the death of Victoria Fybersland. Except that the new maid was the one dressing me and the pure white wedding dress was studded with pearls, diamonds and silk. My veil was shear, almost invisible, and the dark brown hair was tied into tight braids. Little white flowers were sewn into the buns and my pale complexion was made fairer by white powders (not by the case I had hidden my kerchief in) and my lips were painted pink. A string of pearls dangled around my neck and silken slippers were pushed onto my feet.

I felt like a porcelain doll.

The wedding went off without a problem. It seemed too slow for me. Duke James was at the altar, and I walked down after the little girls in white spread the flowers. My father was glowing. I knew he was happy he was getting paid. I tried to look at least a little happy, if only to please the ghost of my mother.

I felt like a slave.

We were wed. Duke James turned to me and flipped the veil back over my head and brought his lips crashing onto mine. His hands were on my waist, tugging me tightly to him. The gold ring around my finger seemed to weigh a ton. We stood there until my lord thought it was long enough to proclaim my lifelong servitude to him. We turned and the hall erupted into cheers.

Charlotte and Meghan seemed close to tears. Actually, Meghan _was_ crying. She was only ten, and knew her time would come.

Lest my story of pain ever be forgotten, I have written all this down for my children to read, for Charlotte and for Meghan.

Charlotte married another noble, against her will too. Meghan ran away when she turned sixteen, and is now my maid under the assumed name of "Sara," She's the only one who knows about my kerchief, and about my situation with my lord. Michael and his wife (Aisling, an Irishwoman) never visited.

Do not be surprised that this wasn't a perfect ending. Real life isn't a fairy tale.

_Victoria of White River_

- - - - -

**Review, please.**

**Nixie**


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